Page 9 of Dirty Lyrics
“Small town in Jersey. Real quiet. Not too far from the city. I saw her at this farmers' market buying some fresh peaches like she didn’t have a care in the world.”
The image slams into me—her hair loose, her smile soft, her hand reaching for fruit—and my chest aches.
“Text me the address,” I say.
“Rico, think this through?—”
“Send it,” I cut him off.
Because if she thinks she can hide from me forever, she’s wrong.
I’m going to find her.
And this time, she’s not going anywhere until I say so.
Oh no. My little Songbird isn’t leaving my sight.
Not until I’m ready to cut her loose—if that day ever comes.
chapter 3-maya
Four months pregnant.
And according to my pregnancy tracker app, he’s the size of an avocado.
The words still feel unreal when I whisper them to myself in the mirror at night.
Mid-August, and Montclair has become my hiding place.
Not too far from New York City, but far enough that no one thinks to look for me here.
I rent a tiny apartment over a bar, the kind of place where the smell of spilled beer clings to the floorboards no matter how many times you mop.
The neon sign outside my window buzzes and flickers, keeping me up most nights, but at least it’s mine.
A roof, four walls, and anonymity.
On the lease, I’m Maya White—White for Blanco. Safer that way.
My father isn’t the type to give up once he’s decided what’s best for me, and he’d drag me back home in a heartbeat if he knew.
But here, I’m pretty much invisible.
Just another face in the crowd.
It doesn’t even dawn on me to hide from Rico.
Why would it? He won’t be looking for me. Not when he has the heartbreakingly beautiful Lucy Volkov as his new muse.
The tabloids call them La Diablita and El Tigre, like some fairytale pairing made for the cameras.
And maybe it is.
Maybe he really loves her the way he swore he loved me.
The thought twists in my chest, but I force myself to breathe past it.
The farmers’ market was crowded today—the last rush before the season shifts.
